


Where Secrets Lie

by Magnetism_bind



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bargaining, Blow Jobs, Brief choking, Dubious Consent, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Post-World War I, Roughness, Self-Reflection, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-21 01:56:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2450405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The deal with Alfie Solomons may require more of Tommy than he's willing to give. At first, at least.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where Secrets Lie

 

Alfie set the gun down and Tommy could breathe again. For half a moment at least.

"You'd do just about anything to make this deal, wouldn't you?" Alfie's tone was pleasant, but there was menace still bristling just below the surface, just waiting for something to bring it forth. Tommy should not have come here alone. He realized this now, when it was too late to do anything about it.

He shook his head.

"Oh now I don't think that's true at all." Alfie shook his head - in answer, mocking Tommy, who could tell? He scratched at his beard and stood. "I think you'd do just what I say, be a good lad. What do you say, eh?"

He could have said no, and maybe he would have a month ago. But tonight his ribs ached. His face was still raw. His bones were tired at the very thought of saying no. Tommy looked up at Alfie and said nothing at all, which was enough answer in its own way, he supposed.

* * *

It brought tears to his eyes, even if that was shaming to admit. His jaw was still too sore, teeth too rattled to bite. Spit gathered in the pockets of his mouth. He’d choke on this man’s cock. Was that how he was meant to die?

Tommy raised a helpless hand, pulling his mouth off, sputtering.

"Oi," Alfie caught his hand and twisted it up. He pulled Tommy’s head back to look him in the eyes. "You're not broken yet now, are you boyo?"

His thumb caught the line of spittle and blood mixing at the corner of Tommy's mouth, that heavy blunt pad dragging his lower lip down further sliding his cock back inside.

Tommy's fist clenched, and locked within Alfie's grasp. The man didn't let him go.  
  
It was just a cock.

It was just a moment on his knees on rough flooring. Then there were fingers in his hair, holding him there - and Tommy wanted to fight again, bite hard, even if it cost him his teeth, scratch like a girl on the docks, like a kid in his first fight on the streets.

He did neither - he swallowed.

"There’s a good lad." Alfie patted his cheek and did up his trousers. He sounded older than he was. He was only a few years older than Tommy. Tommy’d bet on that. And here he was, acting like Tommy was still in short trousers.

He let it slide. Not worth it. Not now.

Solomons leaned back against his desk and picked up the handkerchief he’d dropped there. He tossed at Tommy, who caught it as the square of linen hit his face.

“Clean yourself up, and get.” Solomons turned his back as Tommy wiped his mouth.

Tommy made it to the door before Solmons spoke again in a casual, considering tone. "Next time, maybe, I'll have you over my desk."

At that Tommy turned, his cap in his hand. "What makes you think there'll be a next time?"

"Well, we're working together. Ain't we?" Solomons tilted his head at him, and then smiled. "There'll be a next time. You wait and see."

Tommy didn’t trust himself to speak. He just went.

* * *

In the alley outside he spat up everything he could. It still wasn’t enough. He found himself wiping his mouth with the handkerchief tucked in his pocket. Tommy gazed at it, before clenching it into a crumpled ball and dropping it back in his pocket. It wasn’t enough. So he put his cap on and walked back to the boat, curling up on the cot and drawing the blankets over himself, letting himself stay there till they were back in Birmingham.

It’d brought everything up to the surface. And things that pushed to the surface only wanted reburying,so Tommy did. Drank the whiskey in his flat, bought more to round it out and did just that.

The street below was quiet, a lull in the noise of the day, and he drifted on the whiskey haze until there was nothing left to forget.

  
* * *

His left cheek was puffier, the bruises darker there where Solomon had held his mouth open. If anyone noticed they didn't say anything. Even Pol. True, it was hard to tell the new ones amongst those from the beating in the alley. To Tommy they stood out clearly, bleak and taunting when he gazed in the mirror.

He'd kept the handkerchief. It smelled of whiskey and blood and semen. 

Pol was distracted. Tommy was almost grateful for that. The last thing he needed was anyone to notice what was going on in London.

* * *

The second time, and there was a second time, his bruises were a bit better. Tommy stood sturdier on his legs. He still looked Solomons in the eyes, even if he was on his knees. He thought the man liked that, something said he did.

Whatever he implied, Tommy didn't enjoy it. Not during. Not after. Not the crude basic act of it, or how it made him feel. The way Solomons seemed to take pleasure in the fact that Tommy was agreeing in this. That was something to consider. There was something compelling in the man's persuasive eagerness at having Tommy under his thumb. It would make him weak one day, and Tommy would be there for that.

During the second time Alfie (“Call me Alfie,” he’d told Tommy cheerfully, his fingers coursing heavily through Tommy’s hair,) didn’t make good on the threat of having Tommy on his desk. Not that time, nor the third, or even the fourth.

Anticipation lined Tommy’s stomach like acid, making him almost long for the man to just do it already. He felt the want of it in Alfie’s (his tongue twisted on the name) hands. Every gesture, every touch wanted more from him.

* * *

There was a fifth time as well.

That was the day Alfie pushed him up against the wall in his office. Tommy thought about pushing back, stopping Alfie’s tugging his shirt up, to splay a warm hand over his stomach in an exploratory manner.

But Alfie had been right on one point. He needed this deal.

The hand strayed lower.

“Like that, don’t you?” Alfie seemed interested in his response. Tommy couldn’t think why. What did he truly expect him to say?

He grunted finally, when the man took hold of him. Just lightly, testing him, drawing him out of himself.

Alfie had surprisingly gentle hands. He could crush Tommy’s balls in a heartbeat if he wanted. Tommy kept that in mind. This was not the time to fight back.

“Well?” Alfie leaned in. His breath was whiskey-sweet. “Go on. Tell me. How you like it.”

“And if I don’t?” Tommy said, because sometimes he couldn’t help himself.

He expected the smile, but not the hand slipping up around his throat, pressing his collarbone just right and Tommy swallowed, struggling not to choke.

“Feisty one, ain’t ya?” Alfie remarked.

The hand moved along Tommy’s cock, skimming under him, and unwillingly his hips bucked into the man’s grip. Alfie did it again, fingertips light as air, promising pleasure that Tommy’s body wanted all too much. It hadn’t been that long. He had no excuse. He didn’t want this.

Yes, he did.

“I like it rough.” Tommy said, and the smile bloomed again, half hidden behind Alfie’s beard.

“You don’t say.”

His hand tightened, but delicately, dragging one thin nail down Tommy’s cock in a piercing sweet line.

“How rough?”

“Rougher’n you.” Tommy whispered.

Alfie laughed. “There’s no such thing.” He looked at Tommy for a moment, and then took his hand out of Tommy’s trousers. Now Tommy regretted opening his mouth.

“Turn around.”

“And if I don’t?”

Alfie settled a hand on his hip. Heavy. Holding. _There._ “Do as you’re told and you won’t have to find out.”

He didn’t have to put up with this. Tommy told himself that. Even as he turned round he was denying it. Whether he wanted it or not, he was doing this.

Alfie leaned in close, breath against the back of his neck, pressing Tommy up against the bricks. With one hand he got Tommy’s trousers down, around his thighs, fumbling through his drawers. The room was close and hot, whiskey on the air, in his nostrils. Tommy breathed tightly in as Alfie spat on his fingers.

He hadn’t done this since the war.

Even then he hadn’t admitted it in the broad light of day. It was just something soldiers did for want of a woman. The lies men told themselves would fill a book.

He winced as Alfie eased into him. Hands settled on his hips again, a blunt thrust made him grunt, the sound embarrassing loud in the quiet office.

Then Alfie had a hand on his belly, pressing Tommy back further, deeper on him. Tommy felt his hot breath on his cheek. He’d never kissed a man. Never wanted to with any of the lads. Never thought about it. He thought about Alfie’s lips now. Could hardly help it, the way the man spoke. They’d have been bare without that beard, almost too inviting, too tempting, even for a man.

Alfie’s hand slid down to wrap around his cock once more. “Go on.”

“Now what?”

“Tell me ‘bout all those times you let that copper stick his prick in you.”

At that Tommy twisted, but Alfie gripped him firmly, holding him stroking him, too tight and quick until he was coming in a rush, barely able to breath. Alfie thrust hard inside him, until he was gasping.

He buried his face in Tommy’s hair with a sigh.

“Get off me.” Tommy rasped.

“Say pretty please.” Alfie turned his mouth. It felt like a kiss on his hair.

Tommy pulled his head away and this time Alfie let him go.

Tommy pulled his trousers up, ignoring the feel of the man left on him. He’d deal with that later. For now. He turned.

“We done here?”

Alfie looked up from fastening his belt. “’S’pose we are. For now.” He licked his lips and nodded at the door.

Tommy ignored the words too, heading for the door, only to have Alfie catch his wrist on the handle. Tommy turned, and Alfie grasped his shirt collar, pulling him in.

The beard scratched his cheek, the lips parted his own. Tommy closed his eyes as the tongue slid inside his mouth. Then Alfie shifted his stance, still grasping at him, still pulling - but the way his mouth moved- Tommy had no explanation for the response of his own lips, his tongue slipping soft and tentative along Alfie’s.

Alfie touched his cheek for a bare breath of a second, and then whispered. “Bet your copper never did that.”

Tommy swung at him, and Alfie blocked the blow, twisting his arm hard until Tommy cried out.

“He never did a damn thing.” Tommy wrenched himself free. His shoulder ached.

Alfie shrugged, casually. “His loss then, eh?” He opened the door, holding it. “Good day, Mr. Shelby.”

“Fuck you.” Tommy walked out.

“Till the next time.” Alfie called after him.

Tommy’s shoulders stiffened, but when he looked back, Alfie’s office door was closed. There was nothing for it, but to move ahead.

* * *

 _Next time_ , Tommy thought as he headed for the street. _Next time, and then we’ll see._

He held no promises to himself that it would go differently. Whether this ended in Solomons shooting him, or Tommy cutting his throat – these were all too likely crossroads in the road ahead. It made no difference if he let himself enjoy the brief quiet moments along the way.

In the war the waiting took its toll. The quiet was there, but it came with the stark knowledge that the guns would start up again. When the guns were firing, you knew where you stood. The quiet was peaceful, maybe, but Tommy didn’t trust it.

The quiet that lay in Alfie’s eyes, that was another danger altogether.

Tommy stood on the street corner, lighting his cigarette, watching the lamps glow in the early evening fog. He’d never known a man who made him want to lie in the dark and breathe in the quiet. There was a first time for everything, he supposed, but it didn’t mean you trusted it.

Still, just because you didn’t trust something, didn’t mean you couldn’t want it.


End file.
